“You ungrateful cur!” cried the Harvester. “What has come over you? Six
years I have trusted you, and the answer has been right, every time!
Confound your picture! Sentence me to tackle the girl proposition! I
see myself! Do you know what it would mean? For the first thing you'd
be chained, while I pranced over the country like a half-broken colt,
trying to attract some girl. I'd have to waste time I need for my work
and spend money that draws good interest while we sleep, to tempt her
with presents. I'd have to rebuild the cabin and there's not a chance in
ten she would not fret the life out of me whining to go to the city to
live, arrange for her here the best I could. Of all the fool, unreliable
dogs that ever trod a man's tracks, you are the limit! And you never
before failed me! You blame, degenerate pup, you!”
The Harvester paused for breath and the dog subsided to a pitiful
whimper. He was eager to return to the man who had struck him the first
blow his pampered body ever had received; but he could not understand a
kick and harsh words for him, so he lay quivering with anxiety and fear.
“You howling, whimpering idiot!” exclaimed the Harvester. “Choose a
day like this to spoil! Air to intoxicate a mummy! Roots swelling! Buds
bursting! Harvest close and you'd call me off and put me at work like
that, would you? If I ever had supposed lost all your senses, I never
would have asked you. Six years you have decided my fate, when the first
bluebird came, and you've been true blue every time. If I ever trust you
again! But the mischief is done now.
“Have you forgotten that your name means 'to protect?' Don't you
remember it is because of that, it is your name? Protect! I'd have
trusted you with my life, Bell! You gave it to me the time you pointed
that rattler within six inches of my fingers in the blood-root bed.
You saw the falling limb in time to warn me. You always know where the
quicksands lie. But you are protecting me now, like sin, ain't you?
Bring a girl here to spoil both our lives! Not if I know myself!
Protect!”
The man arose and going inside the cabin closed the door. After that the
dog lay in abject misery so deep that two big tears squeezed from his
eyes and rolled down his face. To be shut out was worse than the blow.
He did not take the trouble to arise from the wet leaves covering the
cold earth, but closing his eyes went to sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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